Lover At Last

FORTY-SEVEN

Qhuinn was eleven miles into a twenty-mile run on the treadmill when the door to the training center’s workout room opened.

The second he saw who it was, he hopped off onto the side rails and banged on the stop button: Blay was standing in the jambs, his eyes jumping around, his face all fucked-up—and not because someone had beaten him or something.

“What happened?” Qhuinn demanded.

Blay shoved a hand into his red hair. “Ah, Layla’s down in the clinic—”

“Shit.” He jumped off and headed for the door. “What’s wrong—”

“No, no, nothing. She’s just in for a checkup. That’s all.” The guy stepped to the side, clearing the exit. “I figured you’d want to know.”

Qhuinn frowned and stopped where he was. As he scrutinized the other male’s expression, he came to a conclusion that made him anxious: Blay was fronting about something. Hard to pinpoint exactly how he knew that, but then again, after being friends with someone since childhood, you learned to read their minutiae.

“Are you okay?” he asked the guy.

Blay motioned in the direction of the clinic. “Yeah. Sure. She’s in the exam room right now.”

Right, clearly, the topic was closed. Whatever it was.

Snapping into action, Qhuinn jogged down the corridor, and nearly burst through the closed door. At the last minute, though, a sense of decorum pulled him up short. Some examinations of pregnant females involved very private places—and even though he and Layla had had sex, they certainly weren’t intimate like that.

He knocked. “Layla? You in there?”

There was a pause and then Doc Jane opened up. “Hi, come on in. I’m glad Blay found you.”

The physician’s face gave nothing away—and that made him psychotic. Generally speaking, when doctors did that professionally pleasant thing, it was not good news.

Looking beyond V’s female, he focused on Layla—but Blay was who he grabbed onto, snagging a hold on the guy’s arm.

“Stay if you can?” Qhuinn said out of the corner of his mouth.

Blay seemed surprised, but he complied with the request, letting the door shut them all in together.

“What’s going on?” Qhuinn demanded.

Checkup, his ass: Layla’s eyes were wide and a little wild, her hands jittery as they played with her loose, tangled hair.

“There’s been a change,” Doc Jane said with hesitation.

Pause.

Qhuinn nearly screamed. “Okay, listen up, people—if someone doesn’t tell me what the fuck is going on, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind all over this room—”

“I’m pregnant,” Layla blurted.

And this is a change how? he wondered, his head starting to hum.

“As in the miscarriage appears to have stopped,” Jane said. “And she’s still pregnant.”

Qhuinn blinked. Then he shook his head—and not as in back and forth, as in how someone would masturbate a snow globe.

“I don’t get it.”

Doc Jane sat on a rolling stool, and opened a chart on her lap. “I gave her the blood test myself. There’s a sliding scale of pregnancy hormones—”

“I’m going to be sick,” Layla cut in. “Right now—”

Everybody rushed at the poor female, but Blay was the smart one. He brought a wastepaper basket with him, and that was what the Chosen used.

As she was heaving, Qhuinn held her hair back and felt a little dizzy.

“She’s not okay,” he told the doctor.

Jane met his eyes over Layla’s head. “This is a normal part of being pregnant. For female vampires, too, apparently—”

“But she’s bleeding—”

“Not anymore. And I did an ultrasound. I can see the gestational sac. She is still pregnant—”

“Oh, shit!” Blay yelled.

For a split second, Qhuinn couldn’t figure out why the guy was cursing. And then he realized…huh, the ceiling had traded places with the wall.

No, wait.

He was passing out.

His last conscious thought was that it was really cool of Blay to catch him as he went over like a tree in the forest.

In the context of the English language, there were many more important words than “in.” There were fancy words, historic words, words that meant life or death. There were multi-syllabic tongue-twisters that required a sort out before speaking, and mission-critical pivotals that started wars or ended wars…and even poetic nonsensicals that were like a symphony as they left the lips.

Generally speaking, “in” did not play with the big boys. In fact, it barely had much of a definition at all, and, in the course of its working life, was usually nothing but a bridge, a conduit for the heavy lifters in any given sentence.

There was, however, one context in which that humble little two-letter, one-syllable jobbie was a BFD.

Love.

The difference between someone “loving” somebody versus being “in love” was a curb to the Grand Canyon. The head of a pin to the entire Midwest. An exhale to a hurricane.

Now I know why he…

As Blay sat on the floor of the exam room with Qhuinn’s loose-as-a-goose body in his lap, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what Layla had said next. Had it been “loves you”? In which case, well, yeah, he knew that the guy loved him as a friend and had for decades. And that didn’t change a thing.

Or had it been with the addition of the “in.”

In which case, he was kind of considering taking Qhuinn’s lead and having a little TO on the tile.

“How’s my other patient doing?” Doc Jane asked as Layla collapsed back on the exam table.

“Breathing,” Blay replied.

“He’ll come around.”

One would hope, Blay thought as he focused on Qhuinn’s face—like those familiar features, even though he was out of it, could somehow answer the question one way or the other.

The Chosen couldn’t possibly have said “in love.”

Couldn’t have been it. He simply refused to let two bouts of great sex rewrite someone else’s words.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he heard Layla say to Doc Jane.

“The throwing up? According to what Ehlena told me earlier, it can most certainly be part of the symptoms of a successful pregnancy. In fact, it can be a sign that things are progressing well. It’s the hormones.”

“I don’t have to return to Havers’s, do I?”

“Well, Ehlena’s coming back from visiting her father tonight. So we need to find out how much she’s comfortable treating—and then see where you’re at. I won’t lie…I think this is a miracle.”

“I agree.”

While the females spoke, Blay kept his eyes on Qhuinn’s closed lids. It was a miracle, all right. Straight up—

As if on cue, the guy came around, those thick, dark eyelashes batting as if they were trying to decide how serious he was about staying conscious.

“Layla!” he shouted as he burst upright.

Blay pushed himself backward, letting the guy go. Feeling a little stupid.

Especially as Qhuinn shot to his feet and went to the female.

Blay stayed where he was, settling back against the closed cupboards under the sink, his knees up, his hands on his thighs. Even though it tore him to pieces, he couldn’t help but watch the two of them together, Qhuinn’s dagger hand impossibly gentle as he smoothed the blond hair away from Layla’s face.

He was saying something to her, something soft and reassuring.

Before Blay knew it, he was out in the hall, walking somewhere, anywhere. As hard as it was to accept compassion from Qhuinn…it was downright impossible to witness it being imparted on someone else—even if they more than deserved it.

The idea that Layla had been given in her needing exactly what he’d had for the last two days made his chest ache—but what was worse? It appeared that with her, the pneumatics had served their biological purpose. She was pregnant—and thanks to Payne, he had a feeling she was going to stay that way.

Overall, he’d done the right thing in going to V’s sister the day before. Assuming that that had been the cause of the amazing turnaround. But still, and even though it didn’t make sense, he felt—

“Are you okay?”

He stopped immediately, Qhuinn’s voice a shock. One would figure the guy would have stayed with the Chosen.

Bracing himself, he shoved his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath before turning around.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just figured you two would want some privacy.”

“Thanks for catching me.” The male lifted his palms. “I don’t know what happened in there.”

“Relief.”

“I guess.”

There was an awkward moment. Then again, they had specialized in them, hadn’t they.

“Listen, I’m going to go back to the house.” Blay tacked on a smile and hoped the guy bought it. “It’s good to have a night off.”

“Oh, yeah. Saxton’s probably waiting for you.”

Blay opened his mouth, but then caught the “why” that was about to fly out from between his lips. “Yup, he is. Take care of your girl. I’ll see you at Last Meal, maybe.”

As he strode off and ducked into the office, he knew he was being a coward for hiding behind a nonexistent relationship. But when you had a bad cut, you needed a Band-Aid.

Christ, no wonder Saxton had broken up with him.

What a fucking romantic.